


Grow as we go

by MarieRuby



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Jaskier has a beard, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Slow Burn, The Coast, geralt heals a century of trauma, reflections about love and feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:01:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24250225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarieRuby/pseuds/MarieRuby
Summary: There was a feeling growing inside Geralt, not unlike the day he went through the trials. A buzzing in his head, making it impossible to concentrate on his surroundings and making every sound muted against the overpowering thrum of his heart. He could not, would not, look directly at Jaskier. The words between them were suffocating him until his breath was stuck in his throat and did not know if he was capable of moving.“I know I’m not without shortcomings. I am loud, and dishonest with my intentions when I want something, frugal and vain, prideful and cunning with my words. You are right to be annoyed, displeased, and even want to keep me away when I’m disturbing your silence.”“But darling, it has been 25 years, and if nothing else, I deserve to be put down gently.” The last part was almost whispered, and the affirmation carried with the summer breeze until it was lodged inside the witcher.or-------------Emotionally mature Jaskier has a beard, Geralt is stoic because he literally panics at feelings, but he tries anyway.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 16
Kudos: 208





	Grow as we go

In the end, Destiny did not have to intervene. Geralt took notice of the people around him, warm, content, and safe, and let the feeling of loss creep back in. There was something, or rather someone, missing from his life, and the blow of losing a friendship of decades was making itself known by plaguing the witcher with sleepless nights once again. He kept turning over the events in his head, the words he said in a fit of rage and the heartbreak smell that immediately followed. 

It had been a couple of years, several wars, puberty, and screaming matches, learning how to be a father, a companion, and a member of a family. 

He thought he knew what having a family meant from watching humans around him, but he was wrong. He only learned with the experience and the patience required to educate and accept he wasn't always right. 

It still wasn't enough. He broke down the first day of Spring when the flowers started to bloom and the aroma around him reminded him of ancient times of bathing and essential oil rubbed in his skin to soothe the burning from his leather and battle. 

He asked Yennefer for a personal favor that he would regret paying later on, and he got a location and a time frame. He had time to prepare for this travel and say goodbye to Ciri, making her promise she would behave and listen to Yen.

The road to finding Jaskier was straightforward. He only took the necessary contracts to ensure he had enough coin to secure food and the occasional lodging, never staying longer than strictly necessary in a town, only stopping to rest when Roach could no longer continue carrying his weight. He saw skies change with how further he went, from grey and rainy to blue and immense. 

The days grew hotter and longer, and the sand from the coast started finding its way into his armor. There were fewer monsters lurking around, and those who were supernaturally enhanced usually found a way to blend in with humans, a delicate dance of give-and-take with the locals that benefited both parties and left Geralt counting the pieces of bread he had until he reached his destination. 

The day he arrived in the little city tucked in the cliffs of a town surrounded by the sea, he was exhausted. His complexion was slightly burned by the intense sun, his lips cracked by the heat and the salty food he had been eating, his sweat permanently glued to his skin. 

The temptation to throw himself in the clear blue ocean was overwhelming, wash from the self-doubt and misery that accompanied him the last months, cleanse his filthy body and his restless mind. 

He had a mission, however, and that was the number one priority. He came to make amends, apologize, ask for forgiveness, and leave quietly if he could not find it, knowing it was his own pride that made him seek it in the first place. 

He had to dismount Roach to lead her to the narrow path ahead of him, careful not to slip or fall on the loose rocks all around him. 

There was a house slightly bigger than all the others around it, smelling of fish and ale with an open door filled with people walking in and out that declared that was the only place he could hope to rent a room. He prayed to the gods he didn’t believe in that the townsfolk would be hospitable enough to let a Witcher stay the night and that the price was not so high he would have to consider selling any of his few possessions just to afford a bed. Normally he would find somewhere in the deep forest to camp, but that had not been an option in the past three weeks. 

Hed led Roach to the stables and handed her over to a boy no older than twelve, pressing a coin to his hand for food and hoping he understood the silent message that should harm come to his horse, he would pay triple the amount he just received. 

The woman standing at the bar looked him up and down with a frown in her face once he crossed the door, distrust evident in her eyes as she considered his white hair, yellow eyes and general weariness of his surroundings.

Geralt had to clear his dry throat before speaking, grunting a small “Do you have a room” without actually making it into a question and wait in tense silence while the women decided if she did or not. 

“I do, how long you planning on staying?” The accent around these parts of the Continent was foreign, the vowels stressed in a way Geralt had to strain his ears to make sense of it.

“One night.” He could not afford more, and he hoped he could say his piece quickly and without fanfare, once he found Jaskier. 

She named the price and handed him a key, motions controlled and distrustful. All in, it was one of the best scenarios Geralt could expect, no violent words or spit in his face. 

His bags and swords were hastily thrown to the corner of the room when he reached it, and the buckets of cold water felt like a blessing once he managed to strip and wipe down the dust he accumulated traveling. He had a clean tunic left, in the bottom of his bag, a white loose piece of clothing he had been foolishly waiting to wear once he arrived at where he wanted to be. 

He dressed methodically, downed some water and ate what was left of his food, chewed on a leaf of mint, and wondered if he should leave now or wait until his heart was no longer beating furiously inside his chest. He had stopped feeling anticipation a long time ago, yet his nervous system was convinced he was preparing himself for battle when in reality, it was everything but. The Witcher had no rage left inside of him, no energy for harsh words or arguments.

Geralt did not have a plan of action or a strategy for his next moves. He hoped he could leave town with a different memory of a goodbye, and with an absolution if Jaskier was kind enough. 

He followed the mental instructions he memorized as soon as he had a concrete location, and after two hours of walking, he could see it, a small stone cottage at the horizon, contrasting harshly against the sunlight and the ocean behind it. 

Yennefer said this was Jaskier’s summer house. His place of rest after the academic year at Oxenfurt, a place of quiet and nature, with a dose of dramatic judging by the sound of the waves violently crashing against the shore. It was the perfect sort of place Geralt would never think of finding, yet he could admit it fit the bard like a tailored glove. 

There was sweat gathering again at his temples, but this time he could admit it came from the exertion and the aggressive push of hist heart against his sternum. It was like it had a life of its outside of Geralt, trying to escape the confines of his body and run ahead. 

It was early enough that Jaskier should be still around, doing whatever he did when he had no obligations and a permanent roof over his head. 

Geralt approached the house quietly, dragging his feet while he listened carefully for any signs of life. There was the wind, always constant, and behind it, hidden away but loud enough Geralt could find it with eyes closed, a heartbeat. 

It was familiar, comforting, incredibly painful. A sound that in the past lulled him to sleep and alerted him to when something was wrong, strong and steady except when they were running for their lives or when someone dared to insult either of them. 

Jaskier had his back turned, eyes locked with the waves and a book firmly grasped in his hands. He was swaying a bit, humming a tune under his breath, a smile hidden in his full beard. His beard, a coarse piece of hair that Jaskier never allowed to grow on the road, insisting a performer had to have a clean face so people could read his expressions and empathize with the tales he spun for coin. 

Geralt advanced until he was close enough to feel the heat irradiating from the bard, and looked up as a last attempt to get Destiny on his side before he undoubtedly fucked up the last chance he had at fixing what he managed to break. 

“Hey.” As far as openings go, it was as neutral as he could manage and getting it out was a monumental effort considering the knot at his throat

Jaskier’s whole body reacted at the same time, a tremor running him from head to toe and the book falling with a thump. He breathed in deeply, rolled his shoulders back, and swallowed before saying “ I knew you were coming and it still caught me off guard.”

Had Yennefer contacted the bard in advance, gave him a courtesy warning that there was a witcher about to come over from the other side of the Continent, armed with nothing but foolish hope? 

"The village's children are quite taken with me, apparently I'm a great entertainer to bored nine years old. As soon as you come into town, they let me know of the scary white-haired Witcher from my songs." 

"Hum". And there it was, the reflex answer that came out of him when he couldn't make sense of the feelings inside his head and translate it into sentences. 

Jaskier spun around, finally, and if Geralt was a poet he would say it was like a sight for sore eyes after so long. Since he wasn't, he tried to not react outwardly and embarrass himself. 

"Always the conversationalist, I see. Care to join me for a walk?" Moving always helped Jaskier think, and the witcher knew that if he focused on putting his steps one in front of the other, he could survive this day without perishing from all the muted feelings flowing inside of him. 

They moved until they were at the edge of the cliff near the bard's house, an involuntary imitation of the position they found themselves in after the dragon hunt. 

The view was overwhelming. So much possibility in front of them, no one really knowing what was at the edge of the horizon, at the line where the sun and the water met. 

"It's… big." It was a stupid thing to say to the man you traveled months to see after realizing you didn't want a life without him in it, yet, it was what Geralt said to break the charged silence. 

"I could make a cheap joke about  _ that is what she said  _ but perhaps this is not the moment." Jaskier scoffed and smiled at his feet, amusing himself with his own anecdote. 

Gods, Geralt missed him. 

"I can see why the nine years old find you so entertaining." The jab came naturally, as it was instinct to rise to the bait Jaskier so readily laid in front of him. 

“Geralt. How old do you think I am?” The question would be innocuous in any other context, but here and now, it held the power to crush down a mountain. 

Several emotions crossed Geralt´s face, to the smallest turn of his lips to the obvious climb of his eyebrows. It was clear he was pondering the question inside his own head, trying to add and subtract years he had not bothered to count before and reaching no substantial conclusion. 

“I will ask another one: How many years have passed since I started traveling with you until the day you asked me to stop?”

This one was less innocent. The weight of implication was not subtle anymore, the accusation soft against Jaskier lips, waiting for an answer but not an acknowledgment of Geralt’s last request. 

Geralt thought of Ciri, now practically a woman, and the day he claimed her as his Child surprise. The years before, when he had to accustom himself to the never-ending sound of Jaskier’s voice, cajoling small favors and intertwining himself into Geralt’s life with stubborn determination. 

There was pepper starting to make its way in Jaskier temples, shining against the dark of his hair, and counting the decades he did not like to voice out loud. 

Jaskier was old. Not old enough to be  _ too _ old, but there was wisdom in his eyes that had not been there before. 

“More than twenty years. I don’t know for sure how many more.” And Geralt didn’t, he didn’t count the time the same other humans did, spring after spring since he lived in perpetual winter and those were not worth remembering. 

They weren’t pretending anymore with cordialities. Geralt could tell by the way the air shifted around them that the pleasantries were over and this was the bard preparing himself to bare his soul. 

“I am going to tell you something I never thought I would, for I was terrified of losing you if I gave a voice to my heart.” He let a small chuckle and turned to look at Geralt, locking eyes with the other man´s profile and slowly breathing in to gather the words gathered at the tip of his tongue. 

“But I already did, and you were never mine, to begin with.” The admission was the beginning of a speech he had rehearsed and spoke to himself on the loneliest of nights. 

“I have known infatuation like the palm of my hands, lust, and passion like my closest friends. In the beginning, it was just that, but the fire burned too steady to consume me whole, and it became so much more when I chose to keep it alive.” There was freedom creeping in Jaskier’s back, the miracle of confession emancipating his spirit for the first time in a long time. 

“I wanted to exalt you, build you up to the status of the gods themselves, let the world see you in the same light as I did. I needed to try to keep you safe, warm, and fed, free to choose your own path that did not involve the  _ Path  _ unless you wished to.” Jaskier paused, taking notice of the tension held in Geralt’s shoulders, and the deliberate way he was not moving a muscle. The witcher was a fighter, but that did not mean he would not freeze in the face of fear. And Jaskier knew his words were scary since the truth always was. 

“When I asked you on the mountain, if you wanted to leave, more than anything I wanted to offer you a safe harbor to come back to. Ultimately, however, my intention was to give you a home.” 

Should have Geralt been stabbed in the gut in that very moment, it would have hurt less. He was trained to stop the bleeding, pull the knife, and bandage the wound. This, however, was invisible. The word  _ home  _ reverberating in his chest, echoing in the empty spaces nobody had ever tried to fill in before, waiting to find a place to land and not finding it. 

“Love is honesty Geralt, so you oughta know, that I do love you. Without pretensions, expectations, or price. I used to think I could not live with this sentiment if you gave me nothing in return, but I don’t feel the same way anymore.” The tears falling down Jaskier’s face ended in his lips, where a small smile bloomed full of other untold truths. 

“I realized, in these years we spent apart, that I could not be angry you did not feel the same as I did. That you chose to give your attention to others when I had not even been brave enough to listen to your rejection.” He turned fully, so they were facing one another since there was nothing Jaskier intended to leave unsaid after his declaration. 

“Not to say that I cannot be angry at your prompt dismissal, your harsh words, and your insistence that I mean nothing.” His tone was firm, despite the shakiness of his hands. He had given the matter a lot of thought, and he knew he could no longer keep making excuses for the people that deliberately hurt him. 

“Because although I will not ask you to love me back, I will demand you to respect me. I have not respected myself for a long time, but that has stayed behind me and it’s time I tell you I am not your punching bag for when you don’t know where to free your misplaced anger.” 

There was a feeling growing inside Geralt, not unlike the day he went through the trials. A buzzing in his head, making it impossible to concentrate on his surroundings and making every sound muted against the overpowering thrum of his heart. He could not, would not, look directly at Jaskier. The words between them were suffocating him until his breath was stuck in his throat and did not know if he was capable of moving. 

“I know I’m not without shortcomings. I am loud, and dishonest with my intentions when I want something, frugal and vain, prideful, and cunning with my words. You are right to be annoyed, displeased, and even want to keep me away when I’m disturbing your silence.” 

“But darling, it has been 25 years, and if nothing else, I deserve to be put down gently.” The last part was almost whispered, and the affirmation carried with the summer breeze until it was lodged inside the witcher. 

Geralt felt broken. He knew the bard felt something akin to infatuation, from the way his pupils would blow with appreciation to the way he kept coming back, year after year of sleeping amongst rocks and being covered in monster’s guts regularly. 

He never truly understood the depth of Jaskier’s feelings, since he was not sure he knew what love was. He comprehended affection, care, responsibility. But love had eluded him years ago when his mother let him become a wolf and shed his humanity and he never stopped to reflect that could be what motivated Jaskier to be by his side. 

He came to redeem himself and regain some of the companionships he steadily had for the past decades. He was prepared for yelling, dramatic allegations of blame, anger, and disappointment.

Geralt was not ready, however, for gentleness. For Jaskier to be honest, to let him know he was loved, deeply and fiercely, and that he threw it away on a whim after being rejected by someone he thought he was in love with.

It left Geralt grasping to understand what to say, how to process the words his friend was saying, to reconcile the idea he had of being unloved, uncherished, unwanted with the statements coming out of the bard. He hard the songs, of course, he did, and he knew what the sweet smell pouring off Jaskier's skin meant, but he didn't make the connection, because that would be almost preposterous to assume. 

Geralt didn't know what to say back. There was a ringing in his ears muffling the real noises around him and he wished he was anyone else at that moment, so he could give Jaskier the response he deserved. 

"It's alright, I know that was a lot. You don't have to say anything now. Let's walk back and eat something." And Jaskier was doing it again, being the bigger man and contorting himself around Geralt's inability to behave like a human being with normal emotions. 

They walked, quietly, something out of character for them considering Jaskier was always quick to fill in the silence, and Geralt wondered if this time around, the absence of words would be his downfall. 

\------------------------------

The afternoon passed by in a blink of an eye. They ate, drank, existed in the same space without really acknowledging the things said early on and pretended that this was not out of the ordinary considering they had not seen each other for the past five years. 

When the sun was setting and the temperature was dropping enough to make Jaskier spur to action and start a fire, Geralt knew he had to say something, anything, or the whole journey would become pointless. 

Taking a small sip of the ale the bard had served him earlier, he wetted his lips and said the only thing that came into his mind. 

“How can I fix it?” And wasn’t that the question he had been asking since that day in the mountain when he realized Jaskier would not come back this time around, not after what he said. 

Jaskier did not reply for a while, considering his words and the impasse they were at. There were a million answers and even more possibilities of what he could say. When he decided on a response, he straightened his back and took a couple of steps forward, cutting short the distance between them. 

There was a challenging glint in Jaskier’s eyes as if he was about to lay down terms to a contract it would be too complicated, even for the Witcher.

“Choose me Geralt. Choose me without a doubt, without indecisiveness and with all of you. Because I chose you over and over again, and look at where that left us. If you want us to have a chance, any chance, you have to tell me you want it and _mean_ it, because I cannot carry the weight of both of our wills.”

Could the witcher do that? His life started with choices being stripped away from him, left to become a mutant without muttering a single word of consent, and following a Destiny that did ask for his input before making itself imperative in his life. 

He said the words that bound him to Yennefer and asked for the Law of Surprise as payment. He drove Jaskier away with a couple of words and decided to chase him when the time came.

He  _ could _ choose, but none of his choices had ever felt like the right one. 

"How?" And Geralt knew, from the bottom of his heart, that it was unfair to ask the bard to lay down the terms of his groveling. "How do I prove to you that I mean it?". 

"Stay." 

It was the question about the coast without it being hypothetical. They were already here, in the middle of nowhere with only the ocean for company, and all Geralt had to do was not leave.

It sounded like an impossible life, and Jaskier knew what he was asking. The commitment was bigger than any marriage between two humans because the Witcher would be leaving behind his purpose to substitute it for a life without physical hardships and monster slaying. It was a selfish choice, letting the rest of the world go by without his trade, and he couldn't find a logical reason to refuse it even if he knew there were plenty. 

"I know it cannot be forever Geralt, despite my madness I'm still quite lucid. I'm aware you have responsibilities, a daughter, and a lot of other people counting on you." The bard had reflected about it, on the many years he had to think about his life and their partnership. What he wanted, what he needed, to heal the wound in his soul, to make amends should the day ever come. 

"I'll be leaving when Autumn begins, to teach, to play, and to live my own adventures. But until then, I'd like for us to learn each other again. Without thinking about the coin, fame, and whatever nasty surprises Destiny has reserved for us." 

Jaskier breathed in and gathered the rest of his words, his heartbeat betraying his external composure by accelerating and beating irregularly as if he was facing his biggest foe. 

"Let us rest for a season, discover if we stayed together all those years by intention or by convenience, and most of all, let me show you the depth of my affection without pretense. Because I'm not getting younger, and I don't want you to be my deathbed regret, my dear." 

The admission of mortality broke the few unwritten rules between them, mentioning the passage of time and the inevitable end to their adventure. 

“I might be temporary for you, but you are permanent for me. I will die knowing the color of years more intimately than my own, and as I've told you, I will not ask or expect you to feel for me as I feel for you. But give yourself the chance of accepting my friendship, because life is cruel and I think we are both deserving of something good " 

When he put it like that, it sounded simple. Stay for a season, learn to live with someone he had spent months inside a house instead of the inconstancy of road, settle in the knowledge he could have more than he had trained himself to believe he deserved. 

It was anything but. The temptation to run away was there, making his muscles tense and prepare for the fight ahead of him. 

"You don't have to answer right away. I realize what I am requesting of you and I don't want to pressure you into replying." That was a double-edged sword, giving him time to decide and postponing the inevitable end. 

"My things are back at the Inn." A good fighter knew when to retreat. To gather himself and access his weapons, count his potions, and sharpen his blade. The witcher needed to be alone, think over this proposition and reconsider his bravery, because, at this very moment, he could admit he was terrified. 

"Come back tomorrow. With your things or without, depending on your decision." 

Geralt stood up from the table he had been leaving on, arms tightly pressed against his side, and finally looked at Jaskier's blue eyes, glimmering with guarded hope and anticipatory heartbreak. 

"I'll come tomorrow. I promise." It was important the bard understood he was returning, for goodbye or for a new beginning. He just needed time to make sense of everything, because right now he could not choose anything even if his life depended on it. 

When Geralt was crossing the threshold, he remembered he had managed to not say the one thing he was certain about in the midst of it all. 

"Jaskier." 

"Yes?" 

"I'm sorry." 

"I know." And Jaskier did. A man that did not regret his actions would not have come all the way to find him and stayed enough time to listen to him say his piece. He just hoped the witcher felt a little bit more than sorry. 

\------------------------ 

Love didn't come naturally to Geralt. The first demonstration of the sentiment had been tainted with abandonment and cruelty at an early age, and from then on, he was mostly shown indifference or disdain. 

His time at Kaer Morhen was painful and lacking any type of affection. His life on the Path was death, misery, and harshness. 

That didn't seem to be the case with Jaskier. He always loved freely, and in all his time with Geralt, he jumped from bed to bed with ease and practice, always claiming to be enamored and swooning over his partners like it was nothing at all to wear his heart in his sleeve. 

Geralt was painfully aware that he was a reflection of all the things he learned while growing up. He insinuated he didn't need people, because the time he needed it the most, he was left behind. When people tried to get close to him, he remembered how he begged for mercy during the trials and was denied comfort by those who were supposed to protect him. 

When Jaskier asked him to travel with him one more time, it was like the world was closing in on him and he had to say it, release the anger burning inside his veins, make the other man go away because he was getting unbearably close, and Geralt could not handle being hurt after the rejection of someone he thought would want to be different and for once, stay. 

The conscience of what he did came later, and despite his regret, he shook it off because he was in survival mode and he had to move on to the next battle. 

It took years of relearning his relationship with himself. For Ciri to tuck herself in the crook of his arms and teach him he was capable of producing human emotions, to learn he could be different, that he was worth accepting people trying to care for him and that deep down, he knew how to care back. 

He found Yennefer and apologized. He gave her a true piece of him that nobody else would ever have, his daughter. He let Ciri teach the sorceress the power of being needed and wanted with childlike wonder and acceptance. They talked, begrudgingly, and let the past be in the past while still recognizing they both had hurt each other deeply. 

It was exhausting and gruesome, but necessary. Geralt thought that would be the end of it, but when that door closed, a bigger one opened. 

He didn’t know, not truly, how much Jaskier was missed until he let himself think about the bard. How the small touches and naked affection in the other men’s eyes had softened his hardened heart, the way the bard could pull smiles out of him, soothe his temperament after a bad hunt, be there to support his weight when his legs couldn’t carry him anymore. 

All those years, he was being shown the possibility of becoming a better version of himself, but he was too blind to see it. It wasn’t time yet, because he had to grow his soul somewhere else first, so he could arrive here, to this little town in the middle of nowhere, and hear someone ask him bluntly to let himself be unapologetically cared for. 

The choice was not if he wanted to stay. The choice was if he was willing to continue to learn how to love, this time with someone who was not afraid in the slightest to let him know when he fucked up and demanded him to do better. 

Jaskier said he didn’t expect him to feel the same, but he would be waiting for some sort of reciprocity. He made it clear their friendship had value and would not be allowed to be sidelined anymore in a foolish attempt to keep Jaskier from seeing too much. 

And Geralt did feel. He had since that day he thought Jakier was going to die because of his temper, but he never knew how to classify the emotion in his brain. It wasn’t burning passion, destructing him with desire and lust. It also wasn’t brotherly and platonic like what he felt for his brothers-in-arms. It existed somewhere in a space he didn’t want to linger on because that felt like a dangerous endeavor for someone like him. 

Now, however, he was being forced to think about it. 

All the times he wished he could lean on Jaskier a little longer, and their thighs touched under the table while they pretended to savor the food they were sold. How Jaskier’s voice became a source of comfort along the way and the blue of his eyes kept drawing him in even when he didn’t want to look. The moments Jaskier cared for his battered skin with patience because the wounds were too deep, and pretended he didn’t see Geralt wince with pain. 

It hadn’t been all good. There were arguments and stupid disagreements, days when Geralt could not stand the smell of the bard all around his things and his horse, nights when he just wanted a minute of peace and the bard kept strumming his lute without respecting his wishes. There was that time Geralt punched him and the time he called Jaskier a curse. 

However, after twenty-five years of running away, he was ready to accept the best and the worst, with as much honesty as he knew how. It would be a difficult task, to not pull away the second he felt Jaskier getting to close, to touch with the intention of feeling the bard’s skin without the permanent guilt reminding him everything he wanted always left him in the end, but he was willing to at least try. 

He had grown, but so did Jaskier. And finally, after decades, they were ready to meet in the middle, and introduce themselves without charades to the versions of themselves that were free to explore whatever it was that could bloom under their tentative efforts. 

It wasn’t often that Geralt felt hope. But staring at the ceiling of his room at the Inn, concentrating on the sounds of the distant waves in the background and imagining what the morning had to bring, he permitted himself to wonder and to foresee the concept of happiness. 

\-----------------------------------

"You're back." It was early, but Jaskier was already awake, sipping a cup of tea by the window of his kitchen, watching the road to his house, and waiting. 

"Yes." Geralt was carrying all of his belongings, and holding Roach close by. 

"Coming or going?" Jaskier had mastered neutrality after so many years playing in the court, but Geralt could hear the truth behind the relaxed words. 

"Coming." The bard's blinding smile was stronger than the sun shining on their faces, echoing all around the Witcher and making him brave enough to keep walking towards Jaskier. 

"Staying?"

"Without a doubt." 

"That is all I ask of you." 

"You can ask for more." And there it was, the permission Jaskier needed to breathe and release the tension he had been holding since he laid eyes in Geralt the day before. 

"I plan to." And Jaskier did, slowly and steady, to unravel the unspoken truths between them and let them understand what was left behind the shields they built over the years. 

"I'm...glad." 

"You know what, my dear. So am I." That was a euphemism and as little words as Jaskier could say at that moment to describe the whirlwind of butterflies in his stomach. 

There would be time for more words later. Now he wanted to focus on the small turn of Geralt's lips, the tapping of his foot and the way he kept shuffling forward, uncertain of his movements, but oh so lovely. 

It wasn't forever, but it was the beginning of the rest of their lives, and Jaskier could not wait for what the future would bring him, even if it had an expiration date. 

The important thing was, that they were going to try. 

And that was all they could hope for. An open mind, a willing heart, and a lot of patience. 

\-------------------

_ Fin  _

**Author's Note:**

> wowowowow. here I am. I think this is going to become a series, because they gotta smooch eventually. Forgive any mistakes, no betas, just me, widely writing this at 2 am. 
> 
> follow me on Tumblr for more update: marieruby.  
> Leave a comment down bellow with your thoughts !!! I love feedback <3


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